One Way Flight
by Iceytaste
Summary: Just a boy, but not just a boy. An inch from becoming a legal adult, he's tossed between his divorced parents, a huge contrast from a small country town to the big city. Two times a week, he boards the plane, he slouches and watches the empty scenery. Enter Maximum Ride, mysterious and eccentric from all her little quirks to the badge that reads U.S. AIR FORCE on her jacket... FAX.
1. Smile

**Hello, it's Icey, famous for _starting _fanfictions and leaving them after a few chapters. But I promise, I'll do my best to stay committed to this one, and if it works I'll finish up my others, or at least some of them. Pinky promise.**

**One Way Flight is really an exciting plot to dream up, I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. There's only going to be a beginning note for this chapter, so if you guys like it I'd be really appreciative if you R&Red, or followed, or whatever these fancy tools are these days. Oh and kudos to you if you can find a character from School's Out - Forever that I mentioned. ****  
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**Iggy: Happy reading, losers!  
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**Fang: You're just jealous that you can't read.**

**Iggy: Whatever, you're just jealous you don't have an excuse to listen to audio-tapes for school ~**

* * *

It was my first of two plane flights that week.

No, I wasn't going to London or Honolulu, I'm sorry to say. Though the location is quite the landmark, and it may sound special to you, it sure as hell is routine for me. And before I elaborate, I should probably give you a quick recap of my life.

My parents are Cyndi McDamien and George Walker. Different names? They're divorced. Dad lives in the small, dirt-road Ashville, Tennessee, while Mom resides in New York. New York, New York, to be exact, and if you get around you probably know that means Manhattan (stupid, I know - they should just call it Manhattan to begin with).

Their marriage didn't work out, hadn't been since last year. Probably 'cause their lifestyles are so different, huh? Since then, I've basically been tossed back and forth like a ragdoll. I don't see why they bother, anyway. I'm seventeen, nearly eighteen, and in a few months I'll be considered a legal adult.

I suppose they just want to get enough of me as they can this last year of high school. Mom takes me on the weekends, while I return home with Dad the rest of the time.

I spent most of my time at Dad's house because that's where I was raised. Mom lived with us, too. But last year... something happened. I'm not sure what. Maybe it was because of her new job? And anyway, it's not like they can fit a six foot teenager in a small Manhattan apartment and not expect havoc.

So, back to the subject. It was Friday. I was flying to Mom's, half wanting to see her, but dreading the consequences. I mean, I was born in raised in a small town. She put up with it for a while, but she was raised in the Big City and you can't outgrow where you belong. But whenever I see her, she kind of... goes... well, you'll see later on.

So back to the flight.

As usual, I was slumping at the window seat, headphones in, my iPad, iPhone, iPod, Kindle, Nook, all that shit in my bag. I'm not a tech-freak or anything, but my family's not hard on money.

That's where the real story starts.

That's when _she_ stepped onto the ramp, boarded the plane, glanced around for an available seat, scuffed down the aisle. I didn't look up, but I could hear her shoes.

Combat boots, I guessed. I kind of had a thing about shoes, my best friend Sam back in Ashville worked part-time at a shoe repair and I joined him. For fun, I guess. It's not like I needed the money or anything.

Combat boots. I would bet ten bucks. Heels, kicks, Sperries, they all sounded different.

I should have noticed. As soon as she stepped on the plane, there was a hush. Eyes flickered away from their cell phones, conversations stopped mid-way, babies dropped their binkies (no, not the last one).

It wasn't because she was _gorgeous _or anything, because I know that's what you were guessing. You think this is the usual summertime love story or whatever. No, it wasn't because she was pretty (she is, though, but I'll fill you in on that later).

It was because of the boots, the crisp navy uniform, the hat on her head. It was because of the way she walked, confidently, her shoulders pulled back effortlessly. It was because of her mouth, a certain, confident line that quirked up, then dropped again just when you started to wonder, _did she just smile at me?_

It was because of the medals on her shoulder, the small embroidered red, white, and blue flag on the corner of her breastpocket (hey, I wasn't _looking _or anything), it was because of the stitched, distinctive letters spelling out U.S. AIR FORCE right above the symbol.

The plane was full, except for a small, extra seat in the back. As soon as I could comprehend that fact, the man next to me, a bushy-bearded man with startling red hair, stood and offered his seat for her. She shook her head, though she looked exhausted. He insisted.

A few moments, later, Carrot-top was in the extra seat, looking mighty uncomfortable, but pleased with himself. The woman was buckling her seatbelt next to me. The conversations had resumed, though I'm sure if Carrot-top hadn't been the Good Samaritan, someone else would have.

The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes.

"Hi. I'm Max."

They were a deep, lucious brown, the color of the mocha frappucinnos (hey, we had to get a Starbucks vocabulary for the girls) with a Hershey's kiss stirred in. _Mmmmm. _Sorry if I'm creeping you out. By woman, I don't mean woman like my mom, woman like a newly appointed woman, like a twenty-one year old woman. Alright, now you can go read that first sentence again, it'll probably be less creepy.

No?

She blinked at me, looking quizzical, possibly wondering if I were deaf, or mute. I try desperately to remember her last comment, realizing she must have told me her name. Ahh, that's right, Max or something. It was... kind of a guy's name, but I decided not to comment. She looked tough.

"N-Nick," I replied quickly, offering her a grin.

"Nick?" Max tilts her head. Her hair is gathered into her hat, though when she moves I can catch a glimpse of blond. Or was that brown? Or both?

"Yeah, most people call me Nick." I grin again.

She nods toward my teeth, looking amused. _Great first impression. First she think's you're deaf or possibly mute, next she thinks you're ridiculous. _"Surprised they don't call you Fang instead." Her mouth quirks up into a smile again.

"Huh?"

She rolls her eyes (her beautiful, lucious mocha frappucinnos) as if it's obvious. "Because your smile is blinding."

"As bright as the sun?" I'm teasing her now.

"I think I'll need SPF 100 sunblock." Nope, she wins.

Never was the subject of the Air Force mentioned. I didn't pressure, and she didn't look keen to offer the chance. The rest of the flight was full of zoning out and smirks on my part. Good comebacks and quirks (I _swear _she actually smiled) on hers.

And that was my first encounter with the brave, gorgeous (but not gorgeous enough for the whole plane to stop and stare), eccentric soldier I'd later know as Maximum Ride.


	2. Iridescence

**Hey guys! First of all, I'd like to thank Brokensky49 for being the only reviewer. I mean, I know you guys read this, because I got follows and favorites, but if you tell me your opinion it motivates me so much more to write more. Otherwise the stories kind of rot and die, so I just wanted to point that out.**

**Anyway again this is so fun to write omg. Okay I'm done.**

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The flights were usually monotone, and had been for the past year or so. Board, sit, listen to music, maybe sleep a little, wake up, depart.

But if my life was colored in shades of gray, Max must have been a splash of color.

Not just one shade of color, though... _iridescence._

If you don't know what that means, I suggest you look it up. I think, someday, if you find someone like her, you'll understand.

If you don't, just buy a cat or something, it'll make your retirement less lonely.

"Flight 254," a feminine voice buzzed through the intercom, "stay where you're seated until we notify you."

"I know the drill," I muttered to myself. I caught Max watching me curiously, her mocha eyes warm but indifferent at the same time.

"You fly a lot?" she murmured, as if she was surprised. Oddly enough, in our hours of talking we'd never gotten into our personal lives. Maybe we had just... _connected_. We didn't have to know about each other, we didn't have to judge.

"Twice a week." My voice came out a grumble, though involuntarily. I realized I'd be relieved when, and if, I get boarded off to college. I'd taken the SATs, and I had my applications filled out, but... I couldn't think of a topic to write for my college essay. "Do you?"

I knew it's a stupid question when Max cocked one eyebrow (how the _hell _do you do that?), her mouth quirking again.

I literally wanted to strangle her, force her to actually _smile_. Normally. With her teeth. God.

"I'm from the Air Force, idiot."

And as soon as she uttered the words, something went off inside me. Interest.

"Why are you...?" I questioned, though when she looked at me her facade faltered. She'd put up a wall, a wall of thorns, she had hidden herself in a whole conversation.

Just for a moment, though, she looked almost vulnerable.

(Don't worry, I still know she could kick my ass to Mexico.)

She turns away, her gaze fixed on something in the aisle, something, anything. "I got released," she said softly, her face hardening. Maybe I shouldn't have pried, I thought nervously, but surprisingly enough, she continues. "My dad's got cancer. Five months to live."

There's a silence. I didn't know. I mean, I didn't know anything about her, but I wasn't expecting _this. _

"Are you going home?" I ask finally, trying to break the newfound ice that looms between us.

"I am." Max closes her eyes. "Are you?"

"Second home, kind of..." I nearly say that my parents are divorced, but her dad is dying. She would think I was selfish if I complained about my parents fighting, when...

Luckily, she seems to understand. She's quiet.

Suddenly I'm hopeful. She boarded at Ashville, didn't she? And she was getting off in New York? What if we see each other again?

Trying to sound casual, I ask, "So what were you doing in Tennessee?"

"My brother lives there," she replies, too quickly.

I'm an expert at lying. I wonder if she is.

"We have arrived at our destination, please clear the plane and leave nothing in the aisles..."

The familiar buzz drones in my ears as Max stands, and turns so her back's facing me, reaching at the compartment above the seats for her luggage. Her uniform's so crisp, it defines each curve of her body - I mean, she isn't _curvy _or anything like Lissa back home, she's more muscular.

I notice Carrot-top is staring at me from the extra seat. _Whoops. _I look away, hoping my face doesn't redden. Luckily, I'm olive-toned. It probably doesn't. Sam calls me "a brick wall." No emotion.

Is that creepy or good?

* * *

I stood, awkwardly, the white blankness of the airport surrounding me. _I wonder how to do this? I mean, I never hug my guy friends or anything, but girls do? I think?_

God, this is stupid.

Luckily, Max seems to resolve things by giving me a quick wave, dismissing me. "Bye," she calls over her shoulder. People stand between us. She raises her hand. Something is in it. It's white, but I can't see much else from here.

She drops it and leaves.

I quicken my pace, nearly jogging, stepping on it as if the wind will blow it away. "Max!" I call, loudly, but she's gone, I can see the automatic doors close behind her.

I look down, stoop down, grasp the paper in my hands. I don't want to invade her privacy.

"Nick!" a voice calls, and I spin around, wanting it to be her, needing it to be her. I will read the paper if she doesn't take it back.

A blond head bobs toward me, blue eyes sparkling. _It's not her._ "Mom," I croak. Max wouldn't have called me Nick, anyway. She would have called me Fang.

"You don't seem happy to see me!" she laughs, wrapping me in a bear hug. Her head only reaches my jaw.

I smile weakly. "Hi, Mom."

"I have so much stuff planned for this weekend," she rushes, ignoring me, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. "Have you ever seen _Wicked_? _Newsies_? Oh! And I saw a show the other day, it's called _Once _and it takes place in Dublin..."

I trail after her, my single backpack slung over my shoulder. I don't need much, I leave my stuff at both places.

Once inside the taxi, Mom leans forward, telling the driver our address. He nods, replying. He can't speak English very well (but who am I talking? I'd be an utter fail if I ever tried to learn a language).

I decide to peek. Just a little peek won't hurt.

_Fang -_

_12A Ferrington Ave, New York, New York_

I blink. She _meant_ to give it to me?

I should feel stupid, but instead I smile.


End file.
